Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Or?” Eddie asks.
I’m not following her. “Or?”
“You said he’ll either get bored or. What’s the ‘or’?”
The or doesn’t really exist. Things between Dax and I will end for whatever reason and then I’ll be forced to leave. “There’s no or.”
“How could he ever get bored of you?” Eddie asks. “You’re gorgeous and clever and resourceful and thoughtful and notice everything about everyone. And he clearly loves how you look after Guinevere. Quelle surprise.”
I wave her away and swallow my pizza, which seems to drag down my throat like it’s covered in nails. I throw the rest of my slice onto the inside lid of the box. I can’t face any more. “Okay so he’s not bored, but he ends things for whatever reason.”
“Maybe he doesn’t.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’m serious. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe you’re it for him and vice versa. Maybe he wants to marry you and have a thousand babies.”
That’s another reason we’ll never work out. Even if we did get serious, I want my own children. Dax didn’t want to be a father of one, let alone more.
“Okay, so say we live in Eddie’s fantasy world. Dax and I live happily ever after. I’d still have to get myself a new job. I can’t be his employee and his…partner.”
Eddie fixes me with a look, grabs a slice of pizza and slumps back against the bed. “Maybe you’re right. So what then? You still wouldn’t take the Russian job because you’d be traveling.”
“Right,” I say, really trying to think of a solution to this ludicrous puzzle Eddie’s created.
“But luckily for me, we don’t live in Eddie’s fantasy world. So I can take the Russian job.” I scribble down don’t live in Eddie’s fantasy and stuff it in the mug.
“That doesn’t count.”
“It does too. I get to ask you a question now. Did you sleep with someone for money? Is that where the scholarship came from?”
“What?” she screams through her mouthful of half-chewed pizza.
She scoops up the sweetcorn that dropped out of her mouth and pops it back in. I try not to gag, unsure if it’s because of the front-row view of Eddie’s half-masticated food or because that last mouthful of pizza really didn’t go down well.
When she’s finished chewing, she says, “I should be furious at you, accusing me of being a prostitute because I got a scholarship, but I can’t even be bothered. I just don’t know how you jump to the worst-case scenario all the bloody time.”
“Oh I don’t know either, maybe it’s the fact our parents died at the same time in a freak helicopter crash and then our uncle stole all our money.”
“I’ve decided to only refer to him as Cuncle from now on,” she says. “Because he’s a cunty uncle.”
“Good for you,” I reply, rubbing my stomach.
“Honestly, if I could sleep with someone for money and get the best part of twenty grand, I’d probably do it.”
“Eddie,” I say, “did you do it?”
“Who’s going to pay anyone twenty grand for a roll in the hay? I don’t know what the going rate is for sex workers in Exeter, but I’d stake my life on it not reaching five figures, and maybe not even three.” She pulls out her phone as if she’s going to start researching sex worker salaries.
“A sugar daddy then. A rich older man paying for everything in return for regular…stuff.”
“What stuff?” she asks. “Hand jobs or hoovering?”
“What the hell is hoovering?”
Eddie laughs. “As in vacuuming. It’s not a sex position. Don’t worry—you and Dax aren’t missing out.”
I can feel my cheeks catch fire. I’ve never discussed my boyfriends with Eddie, mainly because I haven’t had a lot of them. Certainly none I’ve felt the physical need and mental pull I do with Dax.
“There’s no rich man,” she says, her smile fading. “Let me get the letter for you. I can tell you’re not going to be convinced until you see the university logo.”
She comes back with a piece of paper and thrusts it at me. “But what’s even more exciting is the waitressing job. I think I’m going to be able to cope without your help. The restaurant is really nice, and I even get a meal when I’m on shift. I’ll save even more money.” Her eyes are shiny and bright. She looks genuinely excited at the prospect of serving people dinner.
“You need to focus on your studies. There’s no point in being at university if you don’t come out with a degree at the end.”
She scoffs. “I won’t be the first ever student to work a restaurant shift once a week. My degree is hardly in jeopardy. Working once a week isn’t going to hurt my studies. I’d only be out with mates or in here eating pizza on Saturday nights anyway, so that’s the shift I’ve taken.”
“Maybe you need that time to decompress.”